


Burnt S'mores or: For a Few Minutes While I'm Here

by smutdouble



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Deathshipping, M/M, Thiefshipping, YGOTAS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-18 23:37:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11885247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutdouble/pseuds/smutdouble
Summary: What begins as a dubiously fun camping trip takes a sour turn. Based on the abridged series.





	1. Totally Not Lost

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a comedic exercise using the prompt, "Marik and Bakura go camping. Marik reads the map upside down and the two become hopelessly lost." There was a much more somber story constantly trying to poke through, however, and ultimately the original shorter version was just... not working. It ends too suddenly, the account it's originally posted on isn't for pornography, it needed a lot more time and attention to detail than a quick writing exercise... Anyway, the complete and uncut version follows.

Melvin threw his hands up over his head. “You're such an idiot! Just let me take over!”

“Why? So you can murder Bakura and bury his body in the woods?” Marik glared at the translucent tulpa walking beside him.

“So I don't die of exposure because you're too dense to function!”

Bakura arched a white eyebrow at the two individuals hiking in front of him. He couldn't hear what Melvin was saying, but the tulpa looked more pissed than usual. “Is everything all right up there?”

“Yes!” Marik snapped.

“No!” Melvin snapped at the same time.

Bakura paused. He didn't need to hear Melvin to recognize the word 'no' on his lips. “Marik we've been walking for six hours. Are we almost at the campsite or not?”

“Yes,” Marik insisted. “It's just...” He held the map out in front of him and rotated it ninety degrees. Then ninety more degrees. Then back again. “If he'd stopped yelling over my shoulder for five minutes and let me figure out why the map isn't working...”

Melvin gripped the sides of his head like he was trying to keep it from exploding. He reached for Marik's neck like he wanted to strangle him, but of course his hands passed right through it. Marik was too absorbed in the map to notice.

Bakura narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean the map isn't working?”

Melvin's head lolled back and to the side. The look he gave Bakura was full of weary, sardonic frustration.

“I think the compass is broken,” Marik frowned.

Holding Bakura's gaze, Melvin cocked his thumb, put his pointer finger to his temple, and mimed shooting himself.

There were days that Bakura didn't blame Melvin for being bonkers. He sighed and crossed his arms. “I'm afraid to ask, but what in the bloody blazes are you on about?”

Marik pointed at the compass rose. “It's not working.”

Bakura pursed his lips. “Elaborate, Marik,” he pressed. “What is it meant to be doing?”

“You know,” Marik insisted, getting agitated now. “You point it where you want to go and then follow it. Am I really the only one around here who knows how to use a friggin compass?”

Melvin threw his arms out wide. “And there you fucking go!”

Bakura pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't even know where to begin. “It's a _picture,_ Marik.”

“Obviously,” Marik said.

“It! Can't! Move!” Melvin yelled for the dozenth time.

“What do you call this, then, smart ass?” Marik tilted the map side to side.

Melvin cried out unintelligibly and punched at a tree. When he couldn't actually punch the tree, he just got madder.

As amusing as it was to watch the tulpa whip himself into an impotent rage, Bakura didn't want to be stuck out here any more than Melvin. “It's not a real compass,” Bakura explained very slowly. “It's a _picture_ of a compass.”

Marik frowned at the map.

“Does a picture of a watch actually tell the time?” Bakura pressed. At least he had more patience than Melvin.

“Ugh, I get it, okay? I'm not stupid,” Marik huffed. “But what now?”

“I cram that map through your ear until whatever slush you have up there squirts out the other side!” Melvin ranted, but Marik ignored him. Shouting threats was the only thing he could really do in this state.

Bakura bit back his first response and instead asked, “Did you bring an actual compass?”

“I didn't think we needed one,” Marik said.

The thief rolled his eyes. “No matter. I'll have the Ring point us back to the car.” He started to reach under his shirt, but Marik grabbed his wrist.

“No! That's cheating.”

“Marik,” Bakura sighed. “I'm hungry. I'm sweaty. I'm tired. We have no idea where we are. Melvin is halfway to a homicidal rage.”

Melvin glared daggers at Bakura and held up three fingers.

“Fine, three quarters of the way to a homicidal rage,” Bakura corrected. “I think it's time to cut our losses and go home.”

“Bear Grylls never uses magic,” Marik huffed.

“Hang Bear Grylls! Bear Grylls is a tool that chugs his own piss!” Melvin yelled.

Marik's jaw dropped and he finally looked at his tulpa. “You take that back. Bear Grylls is a hero and an inspiration.”

Melvin suddenly looked smugly pleased with himself. He crossed his arms. “No.”

Marik clenched his fists at his sides and stomped his foot. “Take it back!”

“No! That show's a fake pile of shit. What, I'm supposed to believe they actually left some guy out in the wilderness to survive or die _and_ filmed it? I wish. The camera men are probably all carrying snacks.”

Marik lunged at him, through him, into a bush behind him.

Melvin cackled. “How do _you_ like it?”

Bakura leaned against a tree. He didn't know what Melvin had said to flip the roles so quickly, but at least he looked what passed for happy. “When you two are done squabbling, I'd like to see the map.”

Marik struggled to his feet. “But _I'm_ the expedition leader.”

“Marik, if you don't give me the bloody map, I'll throttle you for Melvin.” Bakura held out a hand.

The blond pouted and surrendered the map. Then he sat down on a rock to pick leaves and sticks out of his hair.

Bakura uncrumpled the paper and shook it out. If he was right about the trail they entered on... and they hadn't crossed that river... He looked at the back of his dejected companion's head. Then he blew his wild, white bangs out of his face and looked up at the sky. The sun barely peeped through the trees. “We can walk one more hour that way.” He pointed. “If we find the lake, we can stop for the night. If not, I'm using the Ring to point us back to the car.”

Melvin slumped his shoulders and hung his head.

Marik hopped up, grinning. “Yes! Onward!”

Marik yammered on happily about fishing and campfire songs and s'mores. Bakura pretended to listen while he thought about sucking melted marshmallows off of Marik's lips. Melvin remained remarkably quiet, apparently resigned to his fate.

They managed to reach the lake before sundown. Marik stood on the shore with his hands on his hips and a breeze rippling his golden hair. “Here we are, Fluffy. Two men, braving the elements, overcoming adversity-”

“Setting up the tent before it gets dark,” Bakura interjected as he hoisted his bag off his shoulders.

“Yes, setting up...” He trailed off. “Hold up. What do you mean _the_ tent?”

“You expected me to carry two tents?” Bakura raised an eyebrow. “I'm not your bloody camel.”

“We can't share a tent!” Marik protested.

“Why not?”

“It's... weird. We'd be all... sleeping... right next to each other...”

Bakura shrugged and started unpacking the tent in question. “Sleep outside with the snakes, then. I don't care.”

“Sn- snakes?” Marik's eyes widened. “What kind of snakes?”

“Rattle snakes, I expect,” Bakura continued nonchalantly as he snapped tent poles together.

“Why do _I_ have to sleep outside with the snakes?” Marik scowled.

The albino finally looked up at Marik. “Are you scared?”

“No!” Marik protested. “I can sleep outside with snakes. I could sleep outside with twenty snakes!”

“Then it's settled.” Bakura unfolded the tarp.

Marik fidgeted with the strap of his pack. Melvin laughed. Marik glared at him, but it only made him laugh harder. Lavender eyes studied muddy hiking boots. “Though, you know,” Marik said suddenly, “it could be cold.”

“Good thing you brought a sleeping bag,” Bakura said.

“In- in survival books they always say to- to huddle together for warmth. When it's cold.”

Kneeling on the ground, Bakura looked over his shoulder. “Did you just suggest cuddling for warmth?”

“No,” Marik protested. “I said 'huddle.' It's very different. It's a survival technique. A serious, totally legit survival technique. We should both definitely sleep in the tent, so we don't get that hyper thing...”

“You mean hypothermia?” Bakura asked.

“Yes, that one,” Marik said.

The narrow shoulders rose and lowered. “If you insist.” He turned his back to the other male again, and then grinned.

Marik put his bag down next to Bakura's. “So you keep doing that. I'm going to look for firewood.”

Bakura grunted a reply. Marik headed off into the treeline. Melvin glanced back and forth between the two and then begrudgingly followed Marik.

Marik glanced over his shoulder, and then rolled his eyes. “The clinginess doesn't suit you.”

“As much I'd rather stand around watching Florence wrestle the tent,” Melvin grumbled, “the idea of you wandering off into the woods alone with our body makes me edgy.”

“Look at the parasite, pretending to help,” Marik said sarcastically.

“I thought you preferred the company of parasites.” Melvin glanced around, unimpressed by their surroundings. Maybe a hunting trip might have been okay, but the thought of sitting around watching Marik eat marshmallows and sing songs was already making him want to burn the place.

“Bakura isn't a parasite,” Marik growled as he tucked sticks under his arm.

Melvin looked at him and grinned. “Yet you immediately know who I'm talking about.”

Marik shot a glare at him, but didn't answer.

“Do you honestly think his host feels any differently about him than you do about me?” Melvin cocked his head. “At least our goals align occasionally. Really, binky boy, where would you be if I hadn't killed your father? Certainly not frolicking in the fucking woods.”

Marik threw down the wood he was carrying. “Bakura is nothing like you! Okay? Stop tormenting me because you're bored!”

Melvin pressed his lips together. “Gods, I hate you.”

“Trust me, the feeling is mutual,” the shorter individual grumbled as he recollected his sticks and branches.

By the time Marik returned, Bakura had the tent up and was clearing a place for a fire pit. He looked up as Marik poured his armload onto the ground and wiped the sweat-plastered bangs from his forehead.

“Tell me, am I allowed to use a lighter, or must I rub sticks together like a twit?” Bakura's question dripped with sarcasm.

Marik sunk onto a log and crossed his legs. “I'll give you a pass this time. I'm too hungry.” He hugged his knees to his chest and rested his chin between them. “Bear Grylls makes it look so easy.”

Melvin sat on the ground opposite Marik, crossed his legs, and put his chin in his hands. He stared blankly at the pyramid of sticks Bakura was making as he muttered, “Maybe you should try drinking your own piss.”

Marik's cheeks flushed. “Would you stop bringing that up? It's starting to get weird.”

“I'll stop bringing it up when it stops bothering you,” Melvin grinned.

Bakura frowned at Melvin and then asked Marik, “Does he really have to be here?”

“Aw, am I cock blocking you?” Melvin rolled his eyes. “Poor little furby.”

Marik's whole face turned pink. It was harder for Marik, because he could actually hear Melvin, but he opted to follow Bakura's lead and ignored the tulpa. “Obviously he wouldn't be here if I knew how to get rid of him.”

Melvin's face twisted into a snarl. He stood up, walked around in front of Bakura, and crouched down to make sure he had his attention. When he spoke, he formed each word carefully. “Virginia keeps a condom in his wallet. He thinks it makes him cool. Don't give us any diseases.”

“Oh my gods, just get the frig out of here!” Marik screamed, closing his eyes and tugging at his hair.

Melvin laughed, and kept laughing as he walked toward the lake.

Bakura blinked after him. “Did he say something about a condom?”

“No!” Marik answered quickly. “He said... condemn... He condemns your soul to the... shadow realm.”

Bakura smirked. “Whatever you say, Marik.” He returned to constructing the fire, using a knife to whittle bits of kindling off some of the larger sticks. However, he couldn't help sneaking peeks at Marik as he bent over his pack to dig out the chocolate and marshmallows.

While Bakura tried to get the pile of dry leaves burning, Marik stole the knife to strip the bark off of two sticks. After some growling and cursing and blowing from Bakura, the pair sat side-by-side on a log next to the beginnings of a decent fire. The last rays of sunlight faded over the lake. Bakura jabbed the sharpened stick into the bag of marshmallows and pulled it out with a random number speared on the tip. He pulled one off and stuffed it in his mouth.

“You know what we should do?” Marik asked.

“Hm?” Bakura chewed the marshmallow slowly.

“We should play fluffy bunny.”

Bakura swallowed. “Fluffy what now?”

“We take turns stuffing our cheeks with marshmallows and saying 'fluffy bunny.' If you run out of room, drop a marshmallow, or can't say the words, you lose.”

“That sounds like a stupid waste of marshmallows.”

“Don't worry. There's a second bag.”

“You brought two bags of marshmallows, but you didn't bring a tent?”

“It's a good thing I did. If I hadn't, we wouldn't be able to play fluffy bunny.”

Bakura studied Marik's face. “What does the winner get?”

“Hm...” Marik tapped his chin. “The first s'more?”

“I'm not playing a stupid game if I get a stupid prize,” Bakura said.

Marik pouted at the fire for a moment. Then he beamed at Bakura. “Fine, if you win you can pick whatever one thing you want.”

“Any one thing?” Bakura asked.

Marik nodded. “I mean, you won't, because I'm the fluffy bunny champion.”

Bakura snorted. “Fine, I guess I can't resist a blank check.”

“Great! I'll let you go first.”

With a deep sigh, Bakura cheeked a marshmallow. There was a short silence.

“Come on, Bakura. You have to say it,” Marik pressed.

The albino rolled his eyes. “Fluffy bunny,” he grumbled.

Marik snickered. “More like grumpy bunny.” He shoved a marshmallow into his mouth. “Fluffy bunny.”

They went back and forth. Around the time Bakura shoved his fourth marshmallow into his mouth, Marik could barely restrain his giggles. “Fuffy unny,” he said.

Then Marik did giggle around his mouthful of sugar fluff. “Thtop looking sho sherious, ish not fair.” When all Bakura did was raise an eyebrow, Marik giggled again. “Okay, okay...” He stuffed in a fourth marshmallow and said the words.

The game was just as ridiculous as Bakura expected it to be, but it was getting surprisingly difficult as he reached his sixth marshmallow. Fortunately for Bakura, Marik could barely contain his laughter.

“Ou ook ike a fuffy unny,” Marik snickered. “Our hair ith ike earsh...”

Bakura wrinkled his nose.

Marik covered his mouth and laughed.

“Ay!” Bakura protested. “At's eaing.”

Marik laughed harder. He uncovered his mouth with a wad of soggy marshmallows cupped in his palms. “You still have to say it.”

Bakura rolled his eyes.

Marik snickered. “Come on, grumpy bunny. If you want to win, you have to say it.”

“Fuffy... gk... unny...” Then he spit his marshmallows out on the ground. “Happy?”

“Very,” Marik giggled. He looked around for a moment, and then opted to throw his marshmallows into the fire and wipe his hands on his jeans. “What's the prize going to be?”

Once more, Bakura thought of sticky, sugary lips. He wanted to make his one thing count. “I'll get back to you,” he said. He speared a marshmallow and stuck it in the flames, watching it turn into a tiny torch and then blowing it out. Fingers as white as marshmallows peeled off the black stuff and pushed it between pale lips.

“Gross,” Marik commented as he meticulously browned his over a hot coal.

“It's bitter,” Bakura said. “I like bitter.”

Tan fingers pinched the marshmallow between a square of chocolate and a square of graham cracker. He took a bite and spoke as he chewed. “It's much better like this.”

“Is it?” Bakura cocked his head.

Marik shoved the other half of the treat in his mouth and nodded.

“I suppose I should try it.” Before Marik could respond, Bakura grabbed the back of his head and pulled their mouths together. He held the kiss just long enough to part his lips and run the tip of his tongue across the little valley between Marik's lips. Then he sat back and sucked his lower lip, testing the flavor of chocolate, marshmallow, and Marik. “You've got a point, Marik. This is better.”

Marik stared with wide eyes and red cheeks. “B- Bakura!”

“You said I could have one thing,” Bakura pointed out calmly. “If kisses were off the table, you should have specified.” He lit the rest of his marshmallow on fire, blew it out, and pulled it off the stick with his tongue.

“I was eating. You can't just kiss me while I'm eating,” Marik protested.

Bakura grinned at him. “So I _can_ kiss you otherwise?”

“You have to do it right,” Marik insisted. “You can't spring it on me when I'm not ready.”

Bracing his hands on the log next to Marik, Bakura leaned closer. “Fine. Get ready.”

“You can't kiss me now! The flow of the moment is all gone.”

“Fucking gods, Marik, never mind.” Bakura stabbed another random amount of marshmallows out of the bag and stuck them in the fire. “What makes you such an expert, anyway? Do a lot of kissing while you were running around stealing god cards?”

“Yes, I kissed loads of people. Women. Hot women. Couldn't keep them off me. I was like, 'leave me alone, ladies, I've got serious conquering the world business to attend to,' and they were all, 'but Marik, your abs are so sexy, it's not fair...'” He trailed off as he met Bakura's flat gaze.

“Was that your first-”

“No!”

A slow grin spread across Bakura's face. “So... you're saying that's the best kiss you've ever had.”

“I... you...” Marik spluttered. “Shut up, Bakura.” Pouting sullenly at the fire, he started another marshmallow.

Bakura laughed.


	2. The Best Cure for Hypothermia

The sky darkened, and then brightened again star by star. The pair slipped in and out of silence. Marik spoke first and most often; about how he always wanted to try fishing; about this or that sound out in the woods and the possibility of those sounds being snakes, bears, or slenderman; about how he should have rinsed off in the lake before it got too cold; about the how the stars over the mountain compared to the stars over the desert. Bakura contributed occasionally, but mostly half listened as he enjoyed the way the lavender eyes sparkled when Marik was excited.

The fire cooled. Goosebumps spread across white skin and tan skin in equal measure. Bugs closed in as the radius of the smoke cloud receded. Marik edged closer to Bakura, slumping against his shoulder. Tan fingers brushed Bakura's hand, paused, then felt over it more firmly. 

“Geeze, Bakura, you're a friggin popsicle.” Marik sat up and peered seriously at Bakura's face. The albino almost glowed in the moon light. “You're not freezing to death, are you?” He cupped the pale cheeks in his hands. “Can you feel that?” One thumb stroked at the pale nose. “Are you getting frost bite? What does frost bite look like, anyway?”

If it had been anyone else pawing at his face like that, Bakura would've broken the offender's wrists. Instead, he tilted his cheek into Marik's hand. Exaggerating a chattering of his teeth, he said, “Maybe you should show me how to do that huddling thing you were talking about.”

Marik led Bakura across the carpet grass and twigs in the dark. “Don't worry. Survivor man Marik will save you.”

Bakura had to force himself not to laugh. He wasn't sure if Marik was serious or just playing along, but he wasn't going to complain yet. They kicked their dirty shoes and socks off outside the tent and climbed inside. Bakura lit the battery powered lantern and put it in a corner. Marik was busy unzipping his sleeping bag. 

“We're going to have to zip them together so we can share,” Marik explained in a no-nonsense voice. “Take off your shirt, Fluffy.”

Bakura's eyebrows went up as he complied. “To help conduct body heat?” He teased.

“No, our clothes are disgusting. I don't want dirt in my sleeping bag.”

With a snort, Bakura finished undressing as Marik conjoined the sleeping bags. Then he climbed inside and propped his head up on an elbow to watch Marik strip down. The muscles in his back rippled, causing the wings carved into his shoulders to undulate.

Marik shimmied into the bag, climbing over Bakura and eventually settling in firmly behind him. Strong arms latched around his middle as Marik squeezed and tucked both of them into a ball. “There we go. I'll have you warmed up in no time.” 

The thief wondered what the hell he was doing to himself. Perhaps the centuries had turned him into a masochist. At least in this position he wouldn't have to worry about Marik whining about something poking him in the back.

“See? The color's returning to your cheeks already,” Marik beamed. There was silence for a moment, and then Marik continued, “It's like that part in Twilight, where the sexy werewolf is trying to warm up that silly pale girl. That was stupid. She knew it was snowing, you'd think she would've prepared for it. Bear Grylls would've been prepared.” He yawned. “I like vampires, though.”

“Do you ever have a thought that you don't immediately vocalize?” Bakura asked. In the following silence, he looked over his shoulder, wondering if the blond had dozed off. Two lavender pools filled his vision. “Marik?”

“Yes,” Marik finally answered. “I have a lot of those.”

Something in Marik's voice caused Bakura to extricate himself from the tangle of arms and legs to face Marik fully. “Like what?” He tried to sound casual rather than hopeful.

Marik's face scrunched up and then morphed into a smile. “Bakura, you must be the thirstiest person I've ever met,” he snickered. 

“What?” Bakura's eyebrows drew together.

“I don't know the British translation... desperate to be shagged?”

Bakura scowled. “Let's see how you do after being trapped in a piece of jewelry for three thousand years. Even you couldn't be that repressed.”

The Egyptian teenager rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He tugged at an earring for a bit, and then finally said, “I'm going to tell you something. If you do anything but sit there and listen until I'm finished, I swear I will never speak to you again.”

Taken aback by the sudden moodiness, Bakura responded with a slow, “Okay.”

Marik pursed his lips, still watching the ceiling. “It's not that I don't want to... you know... I do, but...” His jaw tightened and one of his eyes twitched a little. “As the first born son, and the leader of the clan... My dad... My clan... they needed me to be straight. If they'd only ever had Ishizu, they would've made it work, but it was my duty to marry a woman and have babies and...” A frown creased his face as he looked at Bakura. “It didn't used to matter. I never knew anyone interesting enough to care.”

Bakura just stared.

Marik rolled his eyes. “You can talk now.”

“I'm trying to figure out where you're going with this,” Bakura said. 

“I'm saying I like you, you idiot,” Marik scowled. “It's just... the physical stuff... It confuses me.”

“Huh.” Bakura flopped onto his back. “Well the emotional stuff confuses me.”

“So what do we do?” Marik asked. 

Bakura turned his head and eyed him for a long moment. He brushed some golden locks away from a bronze cheek and brushed a kiss where they had been. When Marik didn't protest, Bakura tried a kiss at the corner of his mouth. Then finally one on his lips. The lips molded into it. 

Marik's eyes sparkled when Bakura pulled back. “That was much better timing. I think you're learning, Fluffy.” He grabbed Bakura's face and went in for more. Mouths opened. Tongues prodded each other carefully. 

White fingers spidered down a bronze torso and then slipped around to squeeze a, in Bakura's opinion, perfectly formed ass. He yanked their pelvises together, grinding a little. He felt Marik's body stiffen, so he drew back. “What now?” He tried to control his frustration. They were finally making progress.

“I don't want to be bottom,” Marik said.

“That's fine,” Bakura growled impatiently. They resumed kissing and touching, though Bakura noticed that Marik's hands stayed above his waist. There was very little he wanted more than Marik's fingers around his cock in that moment, but the chance to explore the body he'd been ogling for-bloody-ever would have to do. He trailed kisses down the valleys between Marik's pecs and abs. The sigh Marik emitted as he threaded his fingers into Bakura's hair was very encouraging. Very encouraging indeed. He nipped at Marik's thigh, letting his cheek grazed Marik's groin. 

“Oh, that's perfect,” Marik breathed as he watched. “Stay down there, Bakura.”

Bakura pressed his lips together, trying to resist by focusing on fingering Marik's shaft, but he couldn't do it. Folding his other arm across Marik's thigh, he let his face fall into the crook of his elbow and snickered. 

“What?” Marik whined indignantly.

“I didn't realize I was about to blow a poet,” Bakura snerked.

“You won't be blowing anybody if you don't stop laughing at me,” Marik pouted.

Bakura moved up, keeping one hand on Marik's erection while the other cupped the back of Marik's head. He kissed Marik's protruding lip and then stared directly into his eyes. “You're a daft tart, Marik,” he purred, but he said it with so much affection that Marik's expression softened immediately. The albino slunk down his body like a foamy wave receding from a beach and plugged his mouth with Marik's cock, lest they risk getting distracted by any more banter.

Once he got into it, Bakura was so taken in by the body he'd wanted for so long that any brush with Marik's naked form made his nerves sing. The silkiness of Marik's well-tended skin under his hands. The soft press of Marik's legs on his ribs. The delicious contrast between the softness of Bakura's tongue and the hardness of Marik's member. He cupped his tongue around it as he bobbed his head. The tingling scratch of Marik's nails on his scalp rewarded him. 

Marik moaned and shifted, body rippling in slow waves of joy. Lavender eyes blinked open as he stretched one arm toward his backpack. He yanked it onto its front and fumbled inside it with one hand. Bakura lifted his head enough to watch him, though he continued sucking the end Marik's dick like a lollipop while his fist tended to the rest of it. Eventually between all the gasping and squirming, Marik withdrew whatever he'd been looking for.

A travel-size bottle of baby oil.

Bakura leered at Marik as he took it. “Mm. Never thought your prissiness would come in handy.”

“Says the guy that can't stop touching me,” Marik teased, rubbing a calf against Bakura's back. "This skin doesn't moisturize itself."

Bakura poured the clear liquid directly over Marik's cock, continuing his stroking as he did so. Slick and shiny, his fist glided easily. Satisfied, he swiped the excess from his hand between his cheeks in one fluid movement. He finished kicking aside the long-unzipped sleeping bag as he moved into position over the other male. His slick hand gripped Marik's shaft to help position him, and then Bakura sat down hard. Fast. “Ah!” His head when back and he stayed very still for a moment.

Marik propped himself up on his elbows. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Bakura laughed through a groan. “I forgot this body has never done this before.” He raised and lowered himself slowly, incrementally, a few times. After the initial surprise, the uncomfortable tightness felt sort of good. Maybe it was just because he hadn't felt it in so fucking long. 

After a while, he found himself bouncing in Marik's lap with reckless abandon. His thighs burned and sweat prickled his skin, but everything felt so damn good that he didn't mind being tired. He looked at Marik and found the Egyptian watching him with glazed eyes and parted lips. Gods, the adorable git was beautiful with his fan of golden hair framing his face and those lavender pools shining with want. 

Thousands of years of tension unwound in one moment, filling Bakura's chest with a pain somewhat similar to taking a whole cock too fast. Then the startled insides settled into place, easing into their new position around the new intrusion, and the intrusion didn't feel like an intrusion anymore. As he leaned forward to devour those lips, he was sure Marik felt what Bakura couldn't say. Marik moaned into the kiss, body shuddering as warmth flooded Bakura's bowels. 

Bakura slowed, grinding his erection between their stomachs with deliberate undulations of his hips. Marik hissed every time each backward drag made his cock disappear, but he didn't tell Bakura to stop. He just pawed listlessly at Bakura's back and hair until Bakura finished.

The thief heaved himself up and rolled off into the spot next to Marik. “I hope you don't mind cum in your sleeping bag,” he murmured.

Marik nuzzled against Bakura's chest. “You're definitely not cold anymore.”

Bakura laughed. “I guess I'm not.”

Marik looked up at him, grinning. “I told you I'd save you.”

Bakura sighed and wrapped an arm around Marik's shoulders. He slung his other arm behind his head and yawned at the ceiling. “Yes you did, Marik. Yes you did.”

They drifted off, light still on, comfortably worn out.


	3. All of My Hate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the point where it became apparent that Melvin's presence, though funny at first, created an unresolved arc that wanted to kill the fluffy thiefshipping comedy.

Ryou appeared on a moonlit beach in the middle of a piney forest. Translucent white eyebrows drew together as he took in the sky, the lake, and the dark shapes and shadows surrounding him. If the moon had been smaller, he might not have noticed the barely there figure sprawled in the grass ten feet away. Ryou glanced around once more. Noting no other signs of life, he sighed and approached Melvin. The tulpa's eyes were closed, his face relaxed.

Ryou cleared his throat. “Um... excuse me?”

Melvin neither spoke nor stirred. Up close, Ryou could see that he wore the softest, tiniest of smiles.

Ryou sighed and sat in the cold grass next to him. “Bloody Spirit,” he murmured as he shivered a little. Then he put on a brave face and tried to poke Melvin in the shoulder. To his surprise, the specter was actually quite warm.

Melvin shot upright as his hand flew to the place Ryou's finger had passed through him. Violet eyes fluttered as they finally found Ryou's face, but Melvin still didn't speak. A slight frown replaced the tiny smile.

Ryou recoiled slightly, even though he knew Melvin couldn't physically hurt him right now. “I'm dreadfully sorry if I woke you or something,” he said rapidly, “but I was hoping you might know where we are.”

Melvin's eyes narrowed as he leaned closer.

“Um...” Ryou glanced around, but there was still no sign of the Spirit or Marik. “I shouldn't have bothered you, I'll just...” He started to stand up.

Melvin rolled his eyes, covered his ears, and shook his head.

Ryou hesitated. “Pardon?”

Melvin placed his hand over his chest, covered his ears and shook his head, and then pointed at Ryou.

“You... can't hear me?” Ryou looked puzzled. “But... you can hear the Ring Spirit, right? I know you try to talk to him sometimes...” He trailed off because Melvin was staring at him again.

The tulpa looked around, and then gestured for Ryou to follow him. He led him along the lake shore for several yards and then pointed at a clearing in the woods.

Ryou spotted the glowing tent easily. “Camping? The Ring Spirit went camping?” He looked back at Melvin.

Melvin patted himself on the chest and pointed at the tent again.

Ryou snorted. “I suppose it would have been Marik's idea, wouldn't it?”

The spiky head lolled back and the tulpa heaved a soundless sigh of frustration. Scowling now, he alternated pointing at the tent with touching his ears, his nose, his palm, his tongue...

Brown eyes blinked. “Oh, you hear what Marik hears.”

Melvin nodded once and made a so-so gesture with his hand.

Ryou cocked his head, fascinated now. “But you can understand me?”

The tulpa pointed at his eyes, and then ghosted a finger across Ryou's lips.

Ryou felt the touch as a wisp of warm air. “You read lips?”

Melvin was too busy puzzling over his hand to acknowledge Ryou's question.

“What?” Ryou asked before realizing his mistake and waving a hand in Melvin's field of vision to get his attention. When the tulpa looked at him, he repeated the question.

Melvin pointed at himself, touched his palm, and then pointed at Ryou. He looked confused, but also faintly excited.

“You...” Ryou fumbled for the meaning. It was the same gestured he'd used when talking about the sense of touch. “Feel? Feel me?”

Melvin's grin widened and he stepped forward suddenly, plunging a hand into Ryou's chest.

The sudden heat stunned the shorter male. Ryou simply stared down at the hand inside him until it withdrew.

Melvin pointed at Ryou and then rubbed his upper arms. _You. Cold._

“You're warm...” Ryou murmured. Then he blinked a few times and said, “That's not normal. Feeling me, I mean.”

All Melvin had to do was point at the tent.

“Right, you feel what Marik feels...” Ryou frowned. “Do you always feel everything he feels? Sense everything he senses?”

The translucent hand made the so-so gesture again.

“Even now?”

The tulpa threw back his head and laughed soundlessly, hugging himself like Ryou had just told the funniest joke in the world. Once he'd regained some composure, he nodded and grinned a cheeky grin.

“What's so funny?” Ryou asked.

Melvin pointed at Ryou and pointed at the tent. Then he curled his hand into a loose circle, opened his mouth, and moved his hand forward and back in front of it.

Ryou's jaw dropped. “He what? That's why he kicked me out?!” Pale fists clenched in wild white hair as Ryou paced the shoreline. “This can't be happening... This can't be happening...” Ryou stopped and faced Melvin. “You're screwing with me right? Please tell me you're screwing with me...”

The tulpa crossed his arms and tilted his head.

Ryou crumpled to the grass and covered his eyes with his arm. “I hate him, so much...” A warm breeze alerted him to Melvin's presence. Ryou looked up and found the violet eyes studying him closely. Curiously. Ryou sighed. “I'm not really surprised, you know. He's wanted to shag Marik since the day he saw him. I just... really hoped that Marik wouldn't let it happen. I mean, it's maddening, right? Being forced to experience the world through a... veil all the time?”

Melvin sat back, but he didn't try to say anything.

Ryou carried on, finding he couldn't stop now that he'd started. “I don't have any say over where I live, who my friends are, what I wear, what I eat, where I spend the bloody weekend, if I even make it to school on any given day... That's just something I learned to exist with, I guess. They're all things I can catch up on later... But I was still hoping, _hoping_ , that this whole damn game he's playing would have been over before he lost my virginity for me. Body-stealing wanker! I don't even like camping!” He focused on Melvin, who hadn't moved. “I mean... Am I wrong? Am I wrong for not wanting to share?”

The tulpa shifted to sit next to Ryou and stared out at the star-dusted lake with a glazed expression.

Ryou crossed his arms on his knees. “Are you even listening?” He mumbled rhetorically. His eyes shifted to the lake as well. Bitter and confusing thoughts tumbled through his head. The least the Spirit could have done was allow him to experience it vicariously, right? He'd never thought of himself as gay, but it wouldn't be the first thing he compromised for the Spirit. Ha! 'Compromised.' More like 'conceded.'

Time crawled by as Ryou tried to settle into enjoying the scenery. He wished he knew more constellations. At least the specter beside him kept out the cold. Ryou actually found himself resisting the urge to scoot closer. When the source of heat abruptly moved away, Ryou noticed immediately.

Melvin walked toward the campsite with a purposeful stride. Just before he melded with the shadows, he paused and looked over his shoulder. He considered the pale figure watching him for a moment, and then waved his hand for Ryou to follow.

Reluctant but curious and bored, Ryou did. Melvin couldn't do any damage like this, after all. They stopped outside the tent flaps. Melvin stood, straight-backed, arms at his sides, rigid except for the forward tilt of his head, staring intently at the tent. The stance reminded Ryou of a slasher movie villain. One of the silent ones, like Jason or Michael. The tulpa stepped forward, phasing through the tent wall, and then dipped out of sight.

Ryou scrambled after him, suddenly worried that maybe he wasn't so harmless as the Spirit and Marik thought. He found Melvin crouched over his sleeping hikari. The tulpa shot the albino a mischevious smirk as he faded into the night.

When Marik's eyes flew open, they weren't Marik's eyes. “Go on,” Melvin whispered.

Ryou shifted his gaze to the mess of white locks on the pillow next to Melvin. He'd stopped testing the Spirit's walls a long time ago. They were always thick. Seamless. And yet now... Ryou pushed, and felt something in his mind give like gelatin. He kept pushing, sinking up to his elbows. Up to his shoulders. Easing a foot through. And suddenly he felt cold air on his face and warm skin at his back and...

Ryou jerked upright, staring at his hands. “Am I...” he touched his throat, feeling the thrumming of his vocal cords. “Oh, my.”

Ryou blinked and looked at the teenager sitting up next to him, suddenly realizing that he was alone with Melvin in a very small space. Naked with rippling muscles, wild hair, and a wilder grin, the tulpa was much more intimidating than he'd been as a harmless, if annoying, mental projection. “How...” Ryou started.

The purple eyes widened. “Marik focuses so hard on keeping me repressed when he's angry,” Melvin whispered through his plastered-on grin, “that it never occurred to him he could be vulnerable in... other ways.”

Ryou pressed his back against the nylon wall as Melvin leaned forward.

“I'm sure you won't make me make you regret sharing my moment. You have as much reason to take advantage of it as I do.” Melvin sat back and stared at the ceiling. “I wonder how long this will last. I hadn't planned on chasing squirrels around in the dark.”

“Squirrels?” Ryou asked weakly. Was it a euphemism? Was it literal? He couldn't decide which was more unnerving.

“I want to see the look on Marik's face when he goes through his trip pictures and finds a selfie of me eating a squirrel. It would serve him right for dragging me out here.” His tone was casual, almost bored.

Ryou blinked at him. For all the trouble he had with the Spirit, at least he didn't have to worry about him concocting insane revenge schemes over a measly camping trip. “That's horrible!”

The tulpa grinned. “I bet he'd be too scared to have sex again. Wouldn't that be a win for you?”

“You can't do that! What if-” Ryou fumbled for something that might deter the mad tulpa. “What if he gets sick? You don't want a tape worm, do you?”

“I hadn't thought of that.” Melvin looked thoughtful. “He's still puzzling over that extra ten pounds he can't lose. It would really throw him for a loop if I tipped things the other way.”

With an actual growl of frustration, it was Ryou's turn to drive Melvin back against the nylon wall. “Messing with your host's body like that is not funny and I will not let you do it. Do you understand?”

Melvin blinked, and then laughed. “ _Let_ me? How would you _stop_ me?”

Ryou's eyes wandered down the tan body and ended in his own lap. He shifted back a foot or two and crossed his legs. “I guess I can't,” he said quietly.

The tulpa stared at him for a moment. His face screwed up into a snarl and he punched the ground. “Dammit! Now if I don't go chase squirrels around in the dark, you'll think it's because you told me not to!”

The albino forced a wan smile. “I assure you, I won't think that.” But he would be very relieved.

Melvin growled and glared at the tent flap. Ryou thought about leaving, but he'd have to climb across Melvin's legs to get out and he wasn't sure where all of his clothes were. He weighed the pros and cons of waking the Spirit, but decided that his lack of tact and self control would probably escalate things.

The tulpa's head snapped around to face Ryou. Two rows of teeth glittered in the yellow light. “I know what we can do,” he said.

The wicked grin made Ryou's arms tingle. “What?” He asked carefully.

Melvin licked his teeth as he closed the distance between them on hands and knees. “I want to finish you.”

“What?” Ryou repeated in a higher pitch as he shrank back.

“Marik is very selfish. He didn't finish the parasite properly. I'll finish you. It will be more of a round two, but at least you'll get to participate in the night you lost your virginity.”

Ryou didn't even know where to start with that. “B-but I'm not gay... The Ring Spirit...”

A chuckle rumbled in Melvin's chest. “You sound like Marik.”

“And...” Ryou tried to set his expression more firmly. “Even if I was, my body is still sore from Marik's buggering.”

Melvin tilted his head, planting his hands firmly on the ground at either side of Ryou's hips. “Then close your eyes, pretend I'm a girl, and let me lick it all better.” His tongue lolled suggestively.

Faced with that ridiculously agile tongue, Ryou realized he could still feel echoes and twinges of the Spirit's frustrations. He wasn't completely sold on allowing those teeth anywhere near him, however. “What are you getting out of this?”

“Sensation.” The tulpa groaned. “It's so _boring_ living through someone who hates you.” His face nuzzled into Ryou's hair as his voice dropped to a whisper. “I want to hear. I want to smell. I want to taste. I want to _feel_. While I'm here. For just a few minutes.” His lips found Ryou's ear. “Let me smell your hormones. Let me taste your skin. Let me hear you moan.”

“Blimey,” Ryou gasped. Melvin was practically begging for him. He'd never had anyone want him so badly before. It spoke to a very lonely part of him. There was also some sympathy for Melvin's predicament. Ryou hated being shoved to the background all the time. “So you only want to...”

“Suck your cock and lick your ass until you jizz all over the place,” Melvin half hissed, half growled. “All you have to do is let me do it.”

Ryou blushed at the bluntness. “So I just... lie back?”

“Just lie back,” Melvin smirked, watching him with half-lidded eyes.

The albino didn't trust him, not entirely. On the other hand, it wasn't like he could go anywhere with Melvin straddling his lap. He did _not_ want to start a fight with the tulpa. Ryou lowered himself until he was propped up on his elbows. “No teeth,” he said, hoping it would matter.

Melvin laughed. “Come on, marshmallow. Where's your sense of adventure?”

Ryou scowled at him. It wasn't nearly as intimidating as a Ring Spirit scowl, but he liked to think it was at least more intimidating than a Yugi scowl. “I should think letting _you_ anywhere near my knob is adventurous enough for one night.”

The tulpa licked his lips as he lightly palmed Ryou's cock. “How about we leave that one on the table and you let me know when you want to come back to it?”

The pale hips hitched just a little at the touch. “No,” he protested. “Off the table. Far from the table. The table doesn't even exist.”

If Melvin was listening, he didn't display any indication. Lifting Ryou's cock out of the way, stroking the underside with his thumb, he flicked the tip of his tongue up and down his raphe. Ryou gasped. The new sensation was not unpleasant.

“I'm... serious...” he said more half-heartedly than before, but he was almost glad when Melvin didn't stop to answer.

One lick continued up the underside of his quickly hardening shaft. As the surprisingly long tongue circled the head of the pale cock, violet eyes flicked up to meet Ryou's through a curtain of wild, blond bangs. Ryou's breath came faster as he watched, hypnotized. Then the eyes dipped closed and the tongue curled around his erection as it slid back down. Melvin had him, though. Barring pain or blood, Ryou was suddenly very excited about seeing where this went.

A fist worked his spit-slicked shaft as Melvin sucked one of his balls into his mouth. Ryou arched into that fist. His hands twitched. He wanted to grab that wild mane and pull that wonderful mouth down over his cock, but he wasn't sure how Melvin would respond to being manhandled, so he resisted the urge.

His patience was rewarded, however, when the mad tulpa _finally_ stopped licking and teasing and swallowed Ryou's member in one go. Ryou moaned and bucked his hips. Melvin grabbed them and pinned them in place, growling a little warning around his mouthful. The aggressiveness gave Ryou a startled chill, but the vibrations caused another moan. “Oh, no... Oh, dear...” he breathed, flexing and unflexing his fingers as he struggled to stay still. Ultimately he couldn't help some squirming, but Melvin didn't seem to mind as long as Ryou let him control the pace of the blow job. Ryou allowed himself to close his eyes and enjoy it.

It was a clever tongue. Too clever. Ryou soon felt a familiar tension building in his groin. He propped himself on in his elbows again. “Wait... wait a second...” He breathed. He let out an involuntary whimper as the warm mouth released his cock to the cool air. “How... Where...” The intention had been to clarify whether or not Melvin would be upset if Ryou ejaculated in his mouth. Clouded by arousal and nervousness, his mind refused to construct coherent sentences.

“No where yet,” Melvin smirked. “What kind of bastard would I be if I didn't keep the second half of my promise?”

Second half... Ryou's eyes widened. “I didn't think you were serious,” he admitted.

“Like a heart attack,” Melvin grinned. He pushed the pale knees up and apart.

The British teenager hadn't given much thought to how his first time might play out. The Spirit's interference had made forming romantic bonds with anyone impossible. Something as simple as a steady acquaintance was a dream come true. If someone had told him his first time would involve a rim job in a tent with Melvin, Ryou would've scoffed. It sounded like a vulgar mad lib.

Melvin descended between his thighs until all Ryou could see were the blond spikes sticking up between his splayed legs. The wet muscle slicked unabashedly up the valley between his cheeks and tugged lightly off his balls before withdrawing to make the journey again. Melvin's hair tickled the alabaster thighs as his head moved. The thin chest lurched every time the languid licks crossed the puckered ring of muscle, but they never lingered long enough. Once more Ryou found himself resisting the urge to clutch at and direct the other male.

The length of each lick shortened, gradually zeroing in on where Ryou wanted them until they became firm flicks and lazy circles. With his member wrapped in the surprisingly warm fist once more, Ryou was almost completely relaxed. More relaxed than anyone else had ever been around Melvin at any rate. He'd let his hand slip down to brush 'accidentally' against the one resting near his hip, to test Melvin's reaction to being touched, when a new sensation caused his shoulders to jerk up off the pillow and his eyes to fly open.

The tulpa stopped stroking him in favor of grabbing the narrow hips. Fingers dug in, holding Ryou in place as Melvin growled another warning. Ryou cried out as the tongue pushing at his rear entrance finally achieved penetration. It didn't hurt, but it felt so bloody _strange,_ and surprising. “Sh- should you really be-” Surprise and embarrassment quickly gave way to disbelief as it seemed to slide deeper, and then a surge of pleasure as the tip teased his prostate. “H-holy- Ah! How- How long is your- Ah!” Long enough, he decided, and after a few flicks at just the right place he was only disappointed that Melvin hadn't resumed jacking him yet.

Once it became clear that Ryou's squirming was frustrated desire and not an attempt to get away, Melvin returned to working Ryou's erection with his hand while he fucked him with his mouth. After that, the reserved albino was fucking gone. He may have murmured more than a couple of obscenities to more than a couple of gods. He may have clutched at his knees, pulling them up and out to give Melvin easier access. He may have even moaned Melvin's name as colorful sparks danced on the backs of his eye lids and his body shot his pleasure into the tan hand.

Ryou breathed slowly. Reality set in very gradually. He heard movement near him, and then felt a shadow shift over him. The other body was warm, barely touching Ryou's and yet somehow pressing him into the ground with an impossible weight. It took a lot of willpower to force his eyelids open and face the aftermath of his fear and hormone addled decision. The grin hovering inches from his face was like an ice cube on his nerves.

“Is this the part where we cuddle?” Melvin titled his head.

“Um...” Ryou didn't know what to say.

The tulpa's head cocked the other way, like a curious doberman. “Or were you planning on returning the favor?”

Ryou couldn't stop his voice from rising an octave. “Um...”

Melvin sat up, planting his butt firmly on Ryou's pelvis. “Selfish, selfish host,” he admonished with a wag of his finger. “The least you owe me is some cuddles.”

“Su- sure...” Ryou answered, if only to rid himself of the awkward pressure on his still half-formed erection. When Melvin's naked body curled around him from behind like a steel trap, however, he had a fleeting thought that maybe he should've held out for a third option.

Still, after hours of hiking and apparently two rounds of sex, his body was exhausted. As adrenaline ebbed away, and the tulpa's respiration took on the mellow rhythm of sleep, Ryou felt consciousness ebbing too. The two repressed personalities slipped away, allowing the other two to resurface without a hitch.


	4. No. Seriously. All of It.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It originally ended in the previous chapter, with Melvin and Ryou moping and fuming silently at the lake. Too sudden and somewhat unresolved. Here's the extended ending.

Bakura left Marik doing some pointless preening in the tent and started putting together a fire to make breakfast. In spite of Marik's reservations, he actually felt really good about last night. Though he refused to let Marik see it, alone out here a tiny smile actually graced his usually dower expression.

“Is the world ending?” A soft voice behind him asked.

Bakura jerked around to face the apparition of his host. Had he forgotten to let him back into the Ring? Ryou almost never came out on his own these days. “What?” He asked, trying to act like he hadn't been caught off guard.

“You feel happy,” Ryou said.

Scowling harder than he'd ever scowled before, Bakura tried to deflect the topic. “You feel guilty.”

Ryou flinched. He'd know the Spirit would figure out what had happened sooner or later, and had thought it better to try to explain what had happened before the Spirit figured it out on his own. There was also a part of him that was still extremely unsettled by the way things had ended last night. If he was going to have some psychotic tulpa fixating on him, the Spirit should probably be in the loop. He hadn't expected the Spirit to read him so quickly, though.

Before either of them could say anything, Marik broke the silence with, “Melvin! Where the frig are you?!” The Egyptian thrashed his way out of the tent and turned his glare on Bakura. “Where is he?!”

“What are you shrieking about?” Melvin wandered out of the treeline, fake yawning and stretching.

“You know what I'm shrieking about you disgusting jerk!” Marik brandished his phone.

Melvin gave him a single, slow blink. Then he doubled over laughing.

Marik's face turned red. Whether it was anger or humiliation was unclear. Either way, it had been a while since Bakura had seen Marik that upset. The blond actually hopped in place like child throwing a tantrum.

“Whose butt is this?” Marik demanded, thrusting the phone at Melvin's face.

Ryou froze, eyes wide. His eyes had been closed for at _least_ the last several minutes of last night's mistake. There had been a lot of squirming, grabbing, and shifting. Had Melvin really managed to sneak a picture at some point during that confusion?

Melvin crossed his arms and snickered. “I don't know, Marik. Let's count the bodies and see if we can't figure it out.”

“But Bakura wouldn't do that to me,” Marik whined. He looked at Bakura, anger giving way to a sad sort of hopefulness. “Right?”

Bakura glared at Melvin. “Don't you try throw me under the bus. I don't know what you did, but I don't want anything to do with it.” Beneath the surface of his natural disdain for Melvin ran an undercurrent of shocked betrayal and guilt. He shot Ryou a puzzled look.

Ryou stared. “You used me?” He moved forward a few steps to make sure he had Melvin's line of sight. “You used me!” He threw up his hands. “To mess with Marik!” As if having pictures of himself participating in kinky sex acts passed around wasn't violating enough, Melvin purposely disrespecting his host's body hit a nerve that was too close to home.

The tulpa bowed his head and held out his wrists as though offering himself up for arrest. Then he smirked at Ryou through his bangs.

"What the bloody hell did you do, yadonushi?” Bakura demanded.

Marik glanced back and forth between the two albinos. “Ryou?”

“It wasn't even difficult. A few dirty words and he caved like that.” Melvin snapped his fingers. “His hatred of the parasite runs to deep and interesting places.”

Marik frowned at his tulpa.

“He- he confused me,” Ryou stammered, still unable to decide if he wanted to be sad or angry. As much as Melvin terrified him, the idea that someone wanted him had been nice. To have it ripped away in such a humiliating fashion... “He said that you and Marik were together in the tent and- and- then he cornered me and I didn't know what to do...” Ryou tried to collect his thoughts. He hadn't expected the need for details to arise. “Just tell Marik I'm sorry, okay? Please?”

“Ugh, I hate that word.” Bakura crossed his arms. “I don't even know what we'd be apologizing for.” He felt another dull rush of embarrassment and guilt as Ryou avoided eye contact. His gaze shifted to Marik.

Marik's eyes flicked between Ryou and the phone.

“Marik, don't,” Ryou pleaded, clasping his hands in front of his chest. He knew Marik couldn't hear him anymore than Bakura could hear Melvin, but he hoped the gesture would get the point across.

Holding the phone to his chest, Marik glared sideways at Melvin. “Why did you do this?”

Melvin smiled a thin smile and purred, “Because preying on the little crumpet was the easiest option at the time.”

“In general,” Marik growled. “Why do you do this?”

“Because every moment I spend trapped in your twittering brain box is torture and I want to share the pain,” Melvin hissed.

“I won't let you out,” Marik said. “I don't care how many tantrums you throw.”

The tulpa uncrossed his arms and leaned closer. “You can't help it,” he sneered. “I'll always find cracks, and I'll always torment you.” He studied his nails. “You should be glad I was still buzzing from your activities with the parasite. You might've woken up in a pile of entrails.”

A sick frown tugged at the corners of Marik's mouth.

Apparently satisfied, the tulpa decided to exit the conversation, but not without a parting wink at Ryou.

The British teenager hugged himself and stared at the ground. “Spirit,” he whispered. “Either tell Marik I'm sorry or let me do it.”

“Yadonushi,” Bakura huffed. “I can tell you feel bad. Everyone can tell you feel bad. I'm still hung up on the part where you said he cornered you. I don't care what happened. It's unacceptable that my vessel was alone with Melvin in the middle of nowhere. Why the fuck didn't you wake me up?”

“Don't act so tough, Fluffy,” Marik cut in. “He would've murdered _you_. Or at least tried really, really hard.” He set his lips in a hard line and looked at Ryou. “I'm not mad at you. He's very persuasive when he's not being a giant dick. I'm sure you did the best you could.”

Ryou opened his mouth to respond, and then closed it with a glance at Bakura.

“Let me speak to him,” Marik said.

“Speak to _him_?” Bakura looked incredulous. “What _for_?”

“As one host to another,” Marik glowered.

That actually cowed Bakura somewhat. Marik was so un-hikari-like that he often forgot that about him. Grumbling to himself, he closed his eyes and allowed Ryou to phase into his place.

Ryou fidgeted. They'd never spoken directly to each other before, and only very rarely through the Spirit. With the wall gone, he felt exposed. Especially knowing that Melvin could be listening to all of this. As he searched for words that he didn't mind saying to Marik and potentially Melvin, Marik apparently finished collecting his thoughts.

“What did he say to you?” Marik asked.

That was a slightly easier topic than what he'd done, but Ryou still floundered. “We talked about a lot of things. I'm not sure where to start.”

Marik sat on a log and watched Ryou expectantly until the albino joined him. “I mean,” Marik began. “He didn't physically force you, right? You seem...” Lavender eyes darted over him. “Unhurt.”

Ryou cringed. “We... talked,” he repeated. He was reluctant to explain his outburst on the beach regarding the Spirit shagging Marik. Finally, he settled on, “He went on a lot about how he only experiences things through you. I felt...”

“Pity?” Marik asked.

“Sympathy,” Ryou admitted. “I was really cross with the Spirit when we started talking. It doesn't matter too much why. Melvin said he just wanted to feel, and I felt sympathetic in that moment. I can't believe I thought he had good intentions.” Pale fingers raked through white locks. “I feel like a right fool.”

“It's not your fault. He's good at finding out what people want and using it to cause pain. Sympathy for you, anger for me, it's all the same.” Marik gave Ryou an uncharacteristically earnest look. “I don't repress and ignore him just to be mean. You understand that, right?”

Ryou nodded. “I do now.” He rested his chin in his hands as his eyes glazed over. “I almost feel sort of bad for getting so upset about the Spirit. Apathy must be more manageable than downright hatred.” He considered warning Marik about Melvin's other passive aggressive fuckery, but if Melvin was listening he didn't want to piss him off. “Anyway, that,” Ryou wrinkled his nose, “won't happen again. At least I hope not.” A shudder passed through the pale body. “I wouldn't want it to.”

The implication made Marik wince. “Gods, I am a werewolf... I guess Bakura and I need to sleep in separate beds.” Marik shrugged, trying to lighten the mood. “He snores, anyway. Did you know that?”

Ryou watched Marik through a curtain of white hair. As much as he hated the Spirit, he needed to remember that Marik was a person with feelings and wants as well. A teenager with a vindictive tulpa hell bent on buggering up his already precarious life. Sad as it was, the Ring Spirit was probably the Egyptian's best shot at a normal relationship. Melvin would tear apart anyone else. “I never noticed,” Ryou said.

“Like a friggin belt sander grinding my ear off all night. I told him to get one of those nasal strips, but he said...”

The other teenager kept talking, but Ryou was only half listening. He stretched out his legs and looked at the sky. The sun was warm on his skin. The Spirit had no interest in listening to Marik rant about nasal strips _again_ , so he stayed out of it. Ryou took a slow, deep breath of mountain air, really savoring the chance to feel something for the few minutes he got to be there.

 


End file.
